


Fulfillment

by neosaiyanangel



Category: John Wick (Movies)
Genre: Fluff - Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Grief/Mourning - character mourns the loss of a loved one, Revenge, Slice of Life, Training
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-10-17 13:20:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20621681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neosaiyanangel/pseuds/neosaiyanangel
Summary: John tries to heal from the loss of loved ones. Sometimes the process ends up starting back from scratch. Nevertheless, he picks himself back up for the sake of his dog.





	Fulfillment

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Karios](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karios/gifts).

"Daisy…"

John said the name aloud again, pondering the little puppy in front of him. She didn't seem like much. Nothing screamed that she was special in any way. Just a regular puppy.

Yet she was now the most precious thing John had. The last gift from his wife. Even when she was dying, trapped in the hospital and facing the end of her life, she was thinking of him.

Again, John felt completely humbled before her. She had been so utterly amazing that it still boggled his mind that he had managed to catch her attention. That she had chosen him to be the man that she spent the rest of her life with.

John glanced at the letter from his wife before looking down. The dog—_Daisy_—was in his lap, flipping around like she was trying to get comfortable. So innocent. So trusting. So _loving_.

The dog was his. Her life was his responsibility now. John couldn't bear the idea of letting Helen down.

He wouldn't. When they met again, John wanted to be sure that she would be proud of him. For living, and for loving again.

This was the start of something special.

—

"Here."

John poured some of the dog food he'd bought into the bowl he'd set up for Daisy. It was getting dark now, the colors of the sky draining into the horizon. He had been debating on what a good feeding schedule would look like for a puppy. The pet store had answered some of his questions but the staff seemed divided on the topic of feedings. Scraps, dog food, raw, vegetarian...it was strangely complex. John had to admit, he never knew a dog _could_ be vegetarian.

He decided to stick with basic puppy food. More research would follow in the next few days, as would the beginnings of training. Sofia, when they had been on speaking terms and before he got her marker and took her daughter into hiding, had taught him a few ways to train a dog. She made it look easy, though John doubted it would be the case. Daisy seemed to be housebroken at least, so there was a start.

He considered the puppy as she lapped up water from her drinking bowl. Did she have any other training beyond that? He hadn't looked into the service that Helen had used.

Curious, he said, "Daisy." She looked up at him, eyes shining. Once he was sure her attention was on him, he commanded, "Sit."

Daisy looked at him for a moment before ducking her head back down to drink more water.

John sighed through his nose. Looks like they would be starting from the beginning.

That would be fine. He was a patient man and Daisy was his responsibility now. They were family. She would be trained into a fine dog. An obedient dog. But one that was still happy and as joyful as she was now.

The little dog was now stuffing her face full of kibble. The chomping echoed slightly through the room. A pang went through John's heart as he thought of how _empty_ it sounded.

The laughter was missing.

John shook it off as Daisy seemed to finish. She began rubbing her face against his leg, seeming to try and clean her face. It was pretty adorable as far as puppies went. John couldn't help the restrained grin that crossed his face as he made for the bedroom, certain that his dog would follow shortly.

—

There they were. Laying on the floor together, pools of blood under them. John was okay enough; he'd been through worse. While getting jumped in his own home was mildly embarrassing, it wasn't his worst defeat. He would live.

But Daisy…

The puppy was in his lap. He could tell just by looking at her that she was dead. Her entire right side was caved in, ribs clearly shattered. Somehow she had forced herself to live, to drag herself over to him before she finally died.

Had she been hoping he would help her? Save her life? Or maybe she was trying to help _him_. With how loving Daisy was—had been—the latter wouldn't surprise him.

John began to feel dizzy, realizing that he hadn't taken a breath since he withdrew his hand from her side. He forced himself to breathe as he thought on it all.

His wife's last precious gift was gone. Ripped from his hands by wannabe hoodlums. Useless excuses for human beings. He cursed them out as he cradled Daisy's limp body.

...John could've taken them. John _should've _taken them. They were pathetic compared to him. He had more competency in his pinky than all of them together. He'd let his guard down. Because of that, Daisy had paid the price.

The crushing realization that his wife's gift, her last gesture of love, had been taken from him and that he could have prevented it struck him.

And John _wept_.

—

John stood, looking over Daisy's grave. It was a sad little thing, made of cobbled-together bits from his home. Sometime later, he would get her a proper gravestone. One that was fitting for a member of his family.

The burning pit in his gut flared at the thought. Again, he lost the only family he had. Lost them to goons who didn't seem to understand what, _who_, they were dealing with.

He would _make them _understand. Dig that lesson deep into their skull before he finished them off. That was the only thing to do, that he _could_ do. Nothing else was in his power. Only vengeance.

The emptiness he felt in flickers was, thankfully, easy to ignore in the face of his righteous fury. His mind was straightening up, going through all his contacts, hideaways, and stashes. A plan started forming in John's head. The hoodlums seemed to have some idea of the underworld, at least enough to be a bit of a gang. They would probably take his car to the nearest, largest chop shop that was around. One that could handle working up a 1969 Ford Mustang without doing any type of damage.

They would go to Aurelio. If they had any sense, they would go to him. He was the best in the area. Even the lowliest of the gang totem pole would know about him. That was where they would take his car. If John was lucky, they might have decided to hang around in Aurelio's shop for a while. At the very least Aurelio would be willing to tell John who had done this. And then John would make them hurt. Make them feel frightened, confused, helpless, just as Daisy had. Then, and only then, would he grant them a release from life.

He lost the last little piece of happiness, of hope, that his wife had left him. The only thing he had to properly grieve, to begin healing and moving on. It only made sense that they would pay a similar price. Their fare for the ferryman has been paid. Now it was time for John to escort them across the river.

—

John limped down the street with his new dog. The dog, according to the chart, was a hopeless rescue. A stray that hadn't been given a name, that had no future. Euthanasia had been on his schedule for the morning. So, John reasoned, no one would care if he adopted the dog then and there.

The dog trotted happily next to John, seemingly oblivious to John's injuries. Where Daisy had been empathetic, this dog seemed more happy-go-lucky. Less stressful, which is probably what John needed now that things were mostly settled.

Not _everything _had been finished. He still wanted his car back. It would be easy enough to figure out which chop shop it went to. They would've caught wind of what was going on by now. If they were smart they would either dump the car or simply return it to John. But odds were more in favor of them simply being ready for trying to stop him.

They would try, to be sure. But he was _John Wick_. They would be left as broken as the Tarasov empire was now.

The dog suddenly stopped, sniffing at a random little tree meant to make the area seem like less of a depressing concrete jungle. He pulled at the leash, eager to get closer to the plant. John thought for a moment on his aches and bloody wounds before deciding to take the extra couple of steps towards the tree so his dog could smell it to his heart's content.

John watched as his dog predictably went to the bathroom on the tree. The dog seemed so pleased with himself as he skipped back over to John; there was an unmistakable happy expression on the dog's face. The dog sat down in front of John and looked up with puppy-dog eyes. It took a moment for John to realize that the dog was looking for some praise from his new owner.

"Good…" John trailed off as he realized that he had no name for his new dog. The file on his cage had nothing about him even _having_ a name. While the dog's behavior told John he had been owned by humans, he had nothing to indicate what his name had been.

John thought for a moment. What would be an appropriate name for a dog? His dog? There were _plenty_ of ideas. Catholic names, assassination-related names, names that called back to his past. But the idea of having his dog named 'Lucifer' or 'Killer' was beyond ridiculous to him.

He considered 'Winston' for a moment before discarding it. Most people wouldn't take kindly to having an animal named after them. The last thing he wanted now was to test his old friend's views now that he was finally pulling himself back out of the pit of vipers. And calling him 'Marcus' would just make John think on the death of his dear friend.

It should be something basic. Something easy.

Then an idea struck him partway down an alley they were cutting through.

"...Boy." John paused and looked at his dog. "Your name is Boy."

The dog panted happily at John, the words clearly having no meaning to him. That was okay. He would understand what his name was soon enough.

Helen would have laughed and told him he was being a dork for naming a dog something so simple. Which was why it was a good name. It was uncomplicated, just like his life would be once he got his car back.

The dog jumped around John excitedly as they finally made it to a main street where he could flag a taxi. John made the basic hand signal for 'sit', making sure his dog saw.

The dog obediently sat, looking up attentively at John.

John smiled. "Good, Boy."

—

John dropped his keys into the decorative bowl by the front door as he led Boy into the house. He unhooked the dog's leash and let him go to explore the house. Eagerly the dog ran for it, sniffing anything and everything along the way.

Once John had rid himself of his coat and shoes, he made for the kitchen. While he was exhausted beyond understanding, it wouldn't be good to skip out on yet another meal. He hadn't eaten in a couple of days. Nowhere near his record, but still not healthy.

Boy was in the kitchen, gobbling down the leftover puppy food from when Daisy had been alive.

Daisy. His responsibility. His last gift. He'd avenged her. But it did nothing for the feeling that was left from the raging fire of revenge. The knowledge that he was alone.

It was strange, really. He was an assassin—one of the best to ever live—with mental fortitude like Fort Knox. Nothing to get to his inner sanctum, the thing that was him.

And yet she had. Helen had been so...so _wonderful _and _joyous_. She was like a ray of sunlight for a prisoner trapped in their cell. He never thought he would feel like that, ever. She really had been his other half. Everything felt so empty, pointless, without her.

The pitbull was suddenly next to him, whining and nuzzling against John's side. To his surprise, he had dropped down to the floor at some point. The pain from his knees hitting the ground as hard as they apparently had was minuscule compared to the throbbing in his chest, the lump in his throat, the _crushing _memories that were flitting through his head.

John desperately grabbed hold of Boy, squeezing him like his life depended on it. Because, frankly, it did.

He couldn't be alone. He _couldn't_. If he was alone, completely and utterly alone, what would be the point? An empty life, with nothing to look forward to?

No one could live like that. Not even him.

But, now, he wasn't alone. He had Boy. Boy was his now. All his. He would live for Boy, if nothing else.

John absentmindedly pet his dog's side. The pit bull was drooling on his shoulder, still making worried whining noises.

"It's okay," John soothed. "I'm just feeling a little rough, that's all."

Predictably, Boy didn't seem to understand as he continued to whimper and whine.

"Here." With some effort, John pushed the dog away and got up. He limped over to one of the kitchen cabinets and dug around until he found the treats that he had stored before for Daisy. John held out a pig ear for Boy and said, "Go ahead. Take it."

The dog walked over, sniffing at the treat in front of him, before he snatched it up and began to mindlessly chew on it.

John nodded, more to himself than anything. It looked like what he had on hand would keep Boy happy and fed until he could heal enough to easily go back out in public again.

He found that he suddenly couldn't eat. John knew if he tried he would simply end up with an aching belly and, possibly, throw it all up. What had changed he wasn't sure. All he knew was that eating would be a bad idea now. The only choice left to him at the moment was to go to bed.

John trudged towards the bedroom, glad that Charlie and his crew were as good as they were. No one would have been able to tell there was such a slaughter that had happened not too long ago. Nothing had been forgotten or missed. Even the decorations in the useless cubbies had been put back into their places.

There was no point in doing much more than tossing off his clothing and crawling into bed. The sheets would need washed in the morning when he was more with it, and the clothes were a hopeless case. Nevertheless, it was all okay. Just extra chores to get more clothes and do some laundry.

John carefully laid himself on the bed, watching his wounds to make sure they didn't tear back open. He considered going to Doc in the next few days before discarding the idea. This wasn't anything John couldn't handle. Might as well save the coin.

Sleep took him almost the moment he closed his eyes.

The morning brought the touching yet annoying surprise of Boy laying on the bed next to him, rolled over on his back and snoring away. John quickly decided to prioritize training before he got up for the day, his injuries and aches feeling just as bad as the day before.

—

"Come." John said the word while also making a specific hand gesture.

Boy swiftly made his way to John's side, taking care to walk around the various obstacles John had placed in his path. The birds, the grass, and the interesting-smelling distractions John had left out held no interest to the dog as he beelined straight to John. He settled alongside John, facing almost exactly parallel to his owner. His ears were perked, waiting for more instructions, while his eyes faced forward. Just like how John was training him.

John reached a hand down and gave Boy slightly rough pets. "Good dog."

The tone was signal enough to the dog to start relaxing. He took a moment to scratch behind his ear with a hind leg before laying down in the grass.

John walked through the small maze of toys and treats he had made for Boy. Each was something that he knew the dog loved. It had taken half the day, but Boy finally came to him with a verbal command, undistracted, and without needing anything beyond acknowledgement and pets. Next he would have to make things scarier for Boy. Make sure he knew to come when things were getting dangerous. It was needed training, just in case. Anything could happen, as the run-in with his old employers proved. They should be prepared.

Boy had already been taught the basics: sit, lay down, roll over, fetch...John was simply expanding the repertoire of skills his dog had. Nothing like Sofia and her dogs, but enough that he could survive if things got rough.

John put the idea of intensifying Boy's training on the back burner as he started the next step of the training. He made a small noise, one he had taught Boy was 'attention' a few days ago. Once his dog was looking at him, John made the signal with his hand without saying the word.

Boy had a few hesitant false starts before he once again walked through the distractions to resume sitting next to his owner. John closed his eyes for a moment, a spark of disappointment flitting through him before he squashed it. This just meant it would be a little more training. Still, he gave his dog some good, solid pets and a small treat.

John went and began rearranging the various distractions, switching things out here and there to provide some variety. Next he should consider adding blood of some type. Get Boy to stay calm under the smell's presence, to avoid giving it any attention. Keeping his carefree dog at attention and undistracted was important for if things went wrong.

Finally, John was satisfied with how he set up the new course. This time he set up small barricades, making Boy have to go out of his way to get to him. He made to take position at the opposite end of where Boy had been only to find the dog was now sitting on that side, tail wagging and hyped-up panting greeting John.

John both shook his head in consternation and let out a small chuckle. It looked like Boy might be a little too smart for some of this training.

—

It was dark, the outdoor lights on the house being the only source of light when the two finally wrapped up the latest training day. John was feeling confident that Boy was getting the training. The dog might not be on the level of Sofia's dogs, but he would at least survive if a fight of any kind broke out. Boy even now knew to follow John when there was danger. He wasn't sure how practical that would be. Nevertheless, he taught the trick to his dog with no expectation that it would see any use.

John made his way to the kitchen. Boy followed behind him as he normally did, the expectation of being fed clear. There was no disappointment as John started cooking up some food. Deciding to indulge, he fixed a plate of bacon with some avocado. He cut up some of the bacon and mixed it into Boy's bowl, making sure it was evenly mixed before he set it down for his dog to enjoy.

Boy immediately shoved his head into his bowl with enough force that a few pieces of kibble went flying out of the bowl. The dog took a moment to lift his head out of the bowl, give John a pleased dog grin, before he continued to decimate his supper.

John decided to stay in the kitchen with his dog and eat. His meal was rather unhealthy, but he'd been trying to relax a little as far as his daily rituals went. Especially as he was spending so much time with Boy. He'd decided before that Boy would have a good life. There was no reason to compromise Boy's happiness for some idea of making a perfectly obedient dog.

It didn't take long before he was down to the last crisp slice of bacon. He toyed with it for a moment before he looked at his dog.

Boy was sitting, puppy dog eyes in full force as he looked between the bacon and his owner. His bowl was empty, destroyed by the young dog in no time flat. It only took a moment of thought before John snapped the piece of bacon in half.

"Here, Boy." He ducked down and presented a half to Boy. The dog hopped up and down before ducking down and wiggling his hind quarters, tail furiously wagging the entire time. It was goofy, fun, and _so _Boy it filled John with joy.

And John laughed.


End file.
